


The Window Seat

by AwesomeEyeroll



Category: Outlander (TV), Outlander Series - Diana Gabaldon
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-08
Updated: 2017-04-08
Packaged: 2018-10-16 07:47:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 544
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10566810
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AwesomeEyeroll/pseuds/AwesomeEyeroll
Summary: Jamie thinks about Claire.*****WARNING******* This fic is super angsty.





	

He watched her. His wife, his Sassenach. Claire. She sat where she sat every morning, in the window seat of the kitchen. She loved that spot. She stretched herself like a cat in the sunlight and the comparison made him smile. She reminded him of a cat sometimes. At once languorous but with an air of suppressed ferocity. He’d seen her lose her temper. 

It was a warm morning. The sun shone into the kitchen and a breeze danced through the room. It lifted her hair slightly and she raised her face towards it, eyes closed. He had known her for a decade. Lived with her, seen her everyday, but even so he could not help but to admire her. The strong line of her jaw, the paleness of her skin, so rich and creamy, that cloud of dark hair that he thought was brown but reflected light in a way that it shone red and gold and silver in the light. He knew what her hair would smell like. It would smell of citrus, a soft tang. It would be soft and wild under his touch. His eyes closed as he remembered the feel of her hair on his body as they made love, the tickle of the curls against his face as they kissed, the softness of it in his hands as he held her close to her.

Sorcha. It was a wholly apt name. Not only Claire in the Gaelic, but light. With the sun shining in behind her she seemed illuminated. Like the angels he would see in the churches of his childhood. Earthly but not. Familiar, but hinting of something more, a promise as yet unrevealed. 

Sorcha.

His eyes shut briefly as a tear escaped. He opened them. The window seat sat empty. The breeze ruffled the service booklets on the counter. He felt his brother in law’s hands on his shoulders.

It was time.

He squared his shoulders and took a deep breath. The scent of her was still here. How long would it linger for? Would it gradually leave this place or would he wake one morning and find that all trace of her was gone?

The memory of that day. Her voice floating through the window from the street outside. Some mundane conversation with a neighbour. Then a squeal of brakes, a scream, the hideous sound of metal making contact with brick, with something softer..

The memory of her lying there. Her hand in his but growing cold as her listened to the sirens coming closer. As he in turns reassured and pleaded. Her hand sliding from his as she left. The feeling that his very core had been ripped from his body. 

He stepped out into the garden. The sun was too bright. The cars were there. Black as the wound in his soul. She was there. She was leaving their home for the final time.

‘I will find you, Claire.’ He made the vow he had made a thousand times since that day.

A sob broke free from his throat.

A red haired little girl took his hand. 

He looked down at her and stroked her hair, hair so much like his own. 

They walked down the path.   
A cloud passed over the sun.


End file.
